


Party Favours

by chittaflakes



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Chan and Woojin give good advice, Changbin doesn't know a lot of things, Cuddles, Drunken Kissing, Everyone is tired, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Love Confessions, M/M, Minho is a bad neighbour, Sort Of, a bit of swearing whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-08 21:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15252468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chittaflakes/pseuds/chittaflakes
Summary: Changbin struggles with feelings for his best friend that might not be entirely platonic. It gets more complicated in the aftermath of a drunken kiss.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s dark outside. Changbin doesn’t know for certain what time it is, but he remembers that last time he checked the clock it was just past midnight. The only problem is that he has no idea how long ago that was because his reality-to-time filter has been shot by the alcohol cruising through his veins. He's aiming to be home by three. Changbin has a sneaking suspicion it’s well gone that hour, but he can’t bring himself to care.

A plastic cup sits in his hand. It’s empty. Changbin stares at it, sizing it up, until his vision is swimming with artificial red. He can still see it when he closes his eyes, flashing almost achingly behind his eyelids. He supposes he should refill the cup but his legs feel as though they’ve been sewn to the carpet. Gaze lifting, he scours the room for someone to do it for him, but quickly realizes he’s all alone.

There’s a bed sat against the far wall with a flimsy-looking doll tucked under its covers. When Changbin squints at it, he swears he sees it blink. He briefly wonders whose room he’s in, but pauses as nausea swells in the pit of his stomach, licking at his innards like an open flame. He swallows a few times until it settles. As staticky as his brain feels, he has enough common sense remaining to know he probably shouldn’t be ill over someone else’s bedroom floor.

Darkness tinges the edges of Changbin’s vision and he thinks he blacks out for a moment, but he still has no idea was time it is or what time it was, so he can’t be sure. The fire is burning his guts again so he shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and anchors himself in the muffled music he can vaguely make out from the other side of the door. It sounds like something he’s heard on the radio, some tinny blend of pop and hip hop—and is that jazz?—and is by no means something he wishes to subject himself to further, so he focuses once again on the creepy doll dancing amongst the cotton candy pillows.

It feels like an hour later that the bedroom door opens, but maybe it’s only been a few minutes. He half expects it to be a drunken couple that tumbles onto the bed and makes sloppy love, and he really doesn’t care so long as they _shut the damn door_ because the blinding light coruscating from the hallway is giving him a headache, but it turns out to be Felix and Changbin suddenly doesn’t mind. His head doesn’t hurt that badly anyway.

“Oi, mate, d’you mind if I join you?” Felix slurs. He doesn’t wait for a response and flops onto the carpet beside Changbin, the back of his head making a dull _thunk_ as it drops back against the wall. He smells like sweat, beer, and cheap cologne. Changbin doesn’t want to know if it’s his own.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while. It’s almost as if they’re entirely alone, detached from the world that is the animated party downstairs. In that room it’s peaceful, a lonely hollow in a chaotic jungle. Changbin can breathe. He doesn’t look at Felix, doesn’t quite have the motor control to turn his head, but he can tell Felix is drifting the same line between unconsciousness and reality that he is, induced only by alcohol or smuggled party drugs.

Felix shifts beside him. “I’m lucky I made it up here in one piece,” he says slowly, lips not quite keeping up with his tongue, “Sana was all over me ‘n shit, could hardly get off the couch.” Changbin frowns at that.

“Isn’t she, like, not into guys?” he asks, plucking at a loose thread in the carpet. His fingertips sting a little. He doesn’t remember how long he’s been at it.

Felix chuckles, gravelly and deep, and Changbin can see him turning to face him out of the corner of his eye. “Not like that, Binnie.” He’s quiet after that, struggling to grasp at words that will get his point across, and eventually settles for, “Her stuff. That she puts on her face. She put it on me, y’know?”

Changbin’s brow creases even more. “What–” When he finally manages to look at Felix, his words catch in his throat. His brain can’t figure out whether he should laugh or choke, so he does an awkward combination of the two, covering it up with a sturdy cough. The first thing he notices is how red Felix’s lips are. They’re far more plump than he remembers, almost ridiculously so, and are stained with something sticky and rouge. They remind Changbin of the flesh of an overripe cherry. His eyelashes are long and dark, clumsily sweeping over his pink cheeks like an injured butterfly in flight, and it takes Changbin a moment to realize he’s wearing fake lashes. “I don’t think she glued those on right,” he says as he pokes at the end of a lash. It’s beginning to peel off Felix’s eyelid and Changbin can see the dried glue.

“She probably didn’t,” Felix agrees. “I mean, don’t tell her I said this, but…” he leans in to place his chin on Changbin’s shoulder, “she seemed pretty wasted when I was talking to her.” Changbin doesn’t doubt that she was, but Felix can’t say much. He reeks of alcohol and he’s too close for comfort by this point, but Changbin can’t be bothered to push him away. He supposes he’s pretty drunk as well. He still feels like simultaneously bursting into hysterical laughter and throwing up. Maybe Felix’s cologne is getting to his head.

“Dude, I can’t believe you let her put makeup on you,” Changbin says with a grin, glancing down at Felix once again. From this angle he can see the lipstick smudged over Felix’s chin, the dark eyeshadow speckling his cheeks. Before, it had blended in with his freckles. Now it looks ridiculous.

Crayon lips pursing slightly, Felix narrows his eyes at him. His hands make their way around Changbin’s waist. His chin digs uncomfortably into his shoulder. “You’re one to talk. You were down there earlier, I saw you.” Without finesse, his fingers prod at Changbin’s cheekbones. “You’re definitely wearing makeup. She put some on you, too.”

Changbin blinks, pats around his eyes. The makeup there is heavy and thick, tangible even in his drunken stupor. “You're right," he says. He silently hopes he doesn’t look as clownish as Felix does.

“It kinda suits you. You look pretty, in a messy sort of way,” Felix mumbles into the crook of his neck. His breath is hot and damp against Changbin’s skin. It tickles. His words take a moment to process, and Changbin’s skin heats up before he has time to let them sink in. If he cranes his neck to see Felix from where he’s buried in his shirt, he supposes Felix looks pretty too, although it’s hard to get past the prostitute aspect of the look Sana slapped on his face. He decides to tell Felix anyway, just to be polite.

“You’re beautiful.” It comes out differently that he expects it to.

Felix hums and lifts his head, beaming from ear to ear. “Thanks. I know,” he replies. Changbin scoffs. He honestly doesn’t know why he bothers sometimes.

Clammy fingers press against Changbin’s lower back. It doesn’t bother him until he realizes they’re on his bare skin, and he decides that fuck, he really should be paying more attention to what’s going on. “What are you doing?” His voice sounds deadpan to his ears and he doesn’t mean for it to be so dry, but Felix doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m hugging you,” he replies matter-of-factly. His arms wrap tighter around Changbin’s waist. The thick leather of Felix’s jacket is hot in all the places it rubs against Changbin’s skin, almost sticky in the way it clings to him. Changbin doesn’t really know what to say. He opts to say nothing at all. The familiar silence from before envelops them again, weighing comfortably on Changbin’s shoulders, but it doesn’t last long.

“Kiss me,” Felix mumbles. Changbin almost doesn’t catch it, but once he does, it’s difficult to ignore. He swallows despite the dryness of his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

Leaning back slightly, Felix meets his gaze, palms unwinding from around his torso and resting on his upper thigh. “Kiss me.”

Changbin takes a deep breath. He suddenly feels painfully sober, but the room continues to spin around him, slowly shrinking. “Why?” he asks quietly. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to kiss Felix. If he thinks about it, he does, but that’s not what catches him off guard. It’s the fact that Felix, the living, breathing ray of absolute sunshine, wants to kiss _him_. Then he’s hit by the cloud of beer clinging to Felix’s jacket and remembers that he’s drunk. Changbin’s known it all along, so he doesn’t know why it makes his heart clench. Maybe he’s less sober than he feels.

At some point while Felix is talking and Changbin is thinking, Felix decides to fall forwards and smash his mouth against Changbin’s, and Changbin’s brain short circuits. It’s unpleasant to say the least. Whatever Sana put all over Felix’s lips is tacky and tastes faintly of stale cupcakes, and Felix has a death grip on his left thigh that is almost definitely going to bruise. Despite all this, there’s a warm feeling fluttering in Changbin’s stomach, driving him to grab the lapels on Felix’s jacket and pull him in closer. He silently thanks God that there’s no tongue.

When Felix eventually passes out, because it’s inevitable, what with how drunk he is, Changbin gingerly lays him down with his head in his lap and cards his fingers through Felix’s hair. The taste of sickly sweetness and beer is heavy on his tongue. He doubts it will fade for a while, so he does his best to stomach it.

 

 

The next time Changbin blacks out, he comes to in the backseat of a car. The leather is cool beneath the palms of his hands. It’s still dark outside, but he can’t make out any stars in the sky behind the stark brightness of the streetlights lining either side of the road. The clock at the front reads seven past four. All is silent save for the steady hum of the car engine. It almost lulls Changbin back into unconsciousness, but he fights to keep himself awake.

Beside him, Felix is strapped into his seat, head lolling to the side at an angle Changbin can only assume is uncomfortable. He guides it onto his shoulder instead. Maybe now Felix won’t be so grouchy when he wakes up.

In the rearview mirror, Changbin spots a familiar pair of drooping eyes, although tonight they seem exhausted, fluttering half-closed before opening again to scan the road for approaching traffic. “Chan?” he whispers, careful not to disturb Felix.

Chan briefly glances away from the road to send Changbin a weary smile. “Go back to sleep, Changbin. I’m dropping you off at your house first.” He doesn’t need to tell Changbin twice. Stifling a yawn in the back of his hand, he allows his eyes to drift shut, head tipping to rest atop Felix’s. It doesn’t take long for him to lose track of time.

 

 

 _It’s too bright_. Changbin squints against the sun filtering through his blinds, lifting a hand to his face in hopes of blocking it out. His head feels as though there’s a chunk missing from it and his arms are lead, but aside from that, he isn’t as miserable as he was expecting to be.

Heaving a sigh, Changbin sits upright. He can’t remember much of the night before. He isn’t certain he wants to. The only thing that stands out in his mind is the nauseating taste of Felix’s—well, Sana’s—cheap lipstick and that raggedy doll. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know how to feel about kissing Felix. It was all right. He didn’t want to jump out of a window afterwards. He’d even go as far as to say he _enjoyed_ it, at least to a certain degree. It bothers him that he liked it, that he wouldn't mind if it were to happen again. Felix is his best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. What if he finds it weird? Changbin doesn’t work himself up over it—knowing Felix, he won’t remember a thing.

It takes Changbin half an hour to drag himself out of bed, brush his teeth, and scrub what makeup remains from his skin. He leaves the bathroom with his phone in hand, settling down on the edge of his bed. It’s by that point he's struck with the realization that _fuck_ , maybe he doesn’t want Felix to forget. Maybe doesn’t want that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this at 2am god help me
> 
> this is going to be continued, but i can't promise any exact times for updates bc i'm a little lazy. i'll definitely try my best though, so no worries if you enjoyed it!
> 
> thank you so much for reading, i really appreciate it <3


	2. Chapter 2

Changbin doesn’t understand why Saturdays aren’t always grey. It would only make sense, because everyone who’s anyone is out partying Friday night, getting their kicks from toxins like vodka or marijuana. Saturday mornings are for pain. They’re for misery, for regurgitating the prior night’s mistakes down a freshly-scrubbed toilet bowl, and something about a penny-gold sun hovering in the sky while he empties his hollow stomach feels plain _wrong_. Not to mention it burns to look at. Hell, it burns even when he’s not looking at it because it’s a fucking ball of light and Changbin’s hangovers just don’t agree with light.

He feels pathetic. He’s been awake for around three hours now, at least half of which have been spent kneeling shamefully by the toilet. The nausea paired with his pounding migraine make his body feel like it’s being hacked apart by a blunt axe. He vomits again. Several minutes later, when he’s been reduced to mere gagging because there’s nothing left in him to throw up, he stands up. He makes his way back into his bedroom. It’s funny how things work out, he thinks, because now that he’s no longer preoccupied with the consequences of drinking himself silly he can’t help but be plagued by thoughts of Felix. They make something in him ache so he ignores them.

Unsurprisingly, his phone isn’t plugged in, nor does it have much charge left. He decides to use up what little there is to call Chan.

 _A ring_. Changbin’s gaze travels lethargically around the room, coming to rest on the miniature trash can he has resting at the foot of his bed. _Another ring_. It’s filled to the brim, nearly overflowing with crumpled balls of paper. Changbin thinks he should empty it. _A third ring_. On second thought, maybe he should’ve put those pages in the recycling before he scrunched them up. That might have been a more eco-friendly alternative. Right as the fourth ring is about to sound, Chan answers the call.

“Hello, this is Woojin speaking.” Changbin frowns, about to check if he’d dialled the wrong number by mistake, when the voice quickly adds, “Chan’s busy right now. Who is this?” Changbin realizes then that he’s been breathing heavily into the phone for just long enough for it to be awkward, so he clears his throat and switches it to the other ear.

“This is Changbin. I, uh…” He mentally berates himself for his lack of social skills. Not that they’re terrible, but the crackling in his skull is distracting him from saying what he needs to say. Whoever Woojin is probably thinks he’s some kind of hermit, or just severely socially inept. To be fair, he’s gravely hungover at the moment and he feels as though he’s seconds away from collapsing, so he likes to think he has an excuse. Changbin takes a deep breath and steadies himself on the bedside table before trying again. “I just wanted to talk. It isn’t urgent, I guess. I can call back later.” And it isn’t urgent, not realistically speaking. He just wants someone to rant to. If anyone will be able to lecture him on safety and love and everything in between, it’s Chan. He’ll know what to say to make Changbin’s heart feel better.

There’s a brief silence on the other end before Woojin speaks again. “No, no. You sound tired. If you’re a friend of Chan’s, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you coming over? I can make you some tea and you can discuss whatever it is you want to with him,” he offers. Changbin thinks it sounds like too benevolent of a proposition to be given on a Saturday morning—or afternoon, if he checks the clock—but he’s in too much physical and mental pain to turn it down.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in five.”

 

 

It’s twenty-three minutes later that Changbin’s knocking on the door to Chan’s apartment, but he doubts anyone will notice he’s late. When he’d first considered coming it was because he wanted a free therapy session from Chan, but now he’s more than a little curious to meet the elusive _Woojin_ he first heard of half an hour ago. Will he be wide? Will he be tall? Changbin wearily curses the part of his mind insisting that _of course_ Woojin will be tall, at least next to him.

He’s too busy arguing with himself to notice the door opening. There stands Chan, hair damp and clinging to his forehead, towel around his waist, and it’s evident he’s just stepped out of the shower. Changbin can practically feel the steam emanating from the room. He pushes past Chan without so much as an amiable greeting, heading straight for the couch and flinging himself on it face-down. Chan won’t mind. They’ve known each other for long enough to be past the point of politeness. Besides, Chan’s a pushover when it comes to Changbin. Maybe Changbin uses that to his advantage more than a good friend should.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Chan says with a good-natured chuckle, shuffling into the kitchen. The apartment is small, so he’s within talking and, thankfully, yelling range of Changbin. He pokes his head around the wall and pushes forward a man who looks to be older than him, but not by much. “This is Woojin, he’s a good friend of mine. He’s over right now ‘cause he agreed to do the vocals for one of my tracks.”

Changbin glances Woojin up and down. He definitely looks like someone with a powerful voice. “I thought I was supposed to sing for you,” he mumbles softly, only half serious. Chan’s pitched giggles can be heard even through the pillow Changbin’s pressing his face into.

“Aw, baby. ‘Course you’re singing for me. Just, you know,” he pauses there, and Changbin can visualize him gesturing wildly, “Woojin’s better.” It’s blunt, but that’s how things are between them. Changbin doesn’t mind too much anyway. He much prefers rapping for Chan, and heaven knows no one can do that better than him. Chan said so.

Woojin approaches Changbin with a near-blinding smile bracketed by shallow dimples and holds out his hand. “So you’re the mystery guy on the other end of the line?” His voice is buttery, rich, and it has an almost childlike lilt to it that makes it seem as if he’s teasing him. Then again, he probably is. Changbin takes his hand and shakes it firmly. Surprisingly, Woojin can smile even wider, and he does just that as he gives Changbin’s hand a gentle squeeze, saying, “It’s nice to meet you, Changbin.” Changbin has a feeling he’s going to like him.

Chan reenters the tiny living room with a cup of coffee balanced in one hand and a thick book in the other. He places the steaming mug on the table in front of Changbin. Then, he leans back, reclining in the couch and shifting the book to his lap. He doesn’t open it. Changbin wonders if it’s there for decoration. When Chan clears his throat and raises an eyebrow at him expectantly, Changbin begins to think he wants something from him, but he can’t think of what it could be through the static in his head. Maybe taking a sip of his coffee will help.

He’s in the process of raising the mug to his lips when Chan says, “Woojin told me you called because you wanted to talk about something.” And he’s right, of course. That’s why Changbin’s sitting on his couch on a miserably sunny Saturday afternoon, because there’s not a chance he would be there otherwise. He wants to talk.

“I can leave if you want,” says Woojin, already halfway out of his seat, but Chan reaches up to grip the end of his sleeve, staring questioningly across the room at Changbin. Changbin supposes it doesn’t matter if Woojin stays. It’s not like he knows Felix personally, and besides, it might not hurt to have a fresh perspective on the matter. Changbin nods once at Woojin and he returns to his seat.

Now that there are two sets of eyes boring holes into his skull, much of the confident nonchalance Changbin felt before evaporates. They’re older than him, so there’s a possibility they’ll brush it off as pointless drama. Hesitating, Changbin begins, “You know Felix, right?” Dumb question. He can see amusement beginning to emerge on Chan’s sleepy face, because he obviously knows who Felix is. Woojin is much more attentive, brow furrowed with concentration, because of course he doesn’t. Changbin sighs. “Right, well you know how he’s my best friend?” Again, stupid.

Chan drums his fingers on the cover of his book. “Get to the point, Changbin. We love and support you.” The last part comes across as derisive, but in a childishly caring way that only Chan seems to be able to pull off.

Changbin decides he might as well just go for it. “I kissed him, but he was drunk. Does that mean he wasn’t really into it? Do you think he’ll remember? Was I taking advantage of him?” Once he starts, he can’t seem to stop, the words pouring from his throat like water from a broken tap. “I… think I was drunk too. I don’t remember much, really.”

As predicted, they both look taken aback. Changbin doesn’t know what he expected. It’s difficult for him to pinpoint why, but even he feels startled himself, and it’s almost as if saying it out loud made it that much more real, more tangible. Like it’s something he’ll have to deal with now that it’s out in the open.

“I think you know what I’m going to say, Changbin,” Chan says after a moment of pensive silence. His lips are pursed in the way they always are when he’s keeping himself from beginning an endless lecture, and it makes the dimples in his cheeks show. He’s right. Changbin does know what he’s going to tell him. “Communication is key. I get that this isn’t an end-of-the-world situation or anything, but you should talk to him about it.” Contemplatively, Chan’s attention drops to his lap before returning to Changbin. “Even if he doesn’t remember.”

Instead of anxiety, it’s reluctance that swells like a bruise in Changbin’s chest and it makes his skin prickle. He feels like a petulant child, because of course his imagination is going to run away with him if he lets the worry sit for any longer, but he’d rather give up fast food for a week than actually talk about his _feelings_. A shadowy fraction of his subconscious tells him he’s making a mountain out of a molehill. He doesn’t disagree.

What with the deplorable lighting in the apartment and the partially sympathetic, partially lost looks in Chan and Woojin’s eyes Changbin is reminded almost uncannily of the shitty therapist he used to visit when he was younger. He forces that comparison from his mind almost as quickly as it arrives.

Woojin opens his mouth, but closes it again not long after, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “I don’t know if my opinion really counts here since I don’t know you very well, but it sounds to me like you might want to do some thinking before you talk to him. You’re obviously at more of a loss than most people would be in your situation, so it might mean that there’s something you’re experiencing that you’re not certain of.” Changbin doesn’t know whether he should be offended or not. Woojin has a strange way of making his advice sound sage, even though Changbin knows it’s nothing abnormal and could’ve just as easily come from Chan’s mouth.

Despite Woojin’s sensible input, Changbin doesn’t do any pondering. Nor does he do any considering, reflecting, or ruminating. He simply downs the last few sips of his coffee and leaves the apartment. As he passes through the door, he hears the faint clinking of Chan cleaning up his mug.

 

 

There’s a crack in the bathroom wall that Changbin knows he should get fixed. Situated directly beside the mirror it branches out, long and spindly, spidering all the way around the glass and part of the way towards the window. It’s been there for as long as Changbin’s lived in his apartment and he’s never really wondered how it got there. He’s come to accept its place in his life, just as he would anything else.

He’s not quite finished brushing his teeth and staring distractedly at the crack when his phone begins to vibrate on the edge of the sink. Without checking the caller ID, he answers it. “Hello?”

“Hey Changbin, it’s Felix,” Felix says, as if Changbin wouldn’t be able to tell by the rich colour of his voice alone. “Is it okay if we go to get lunch tomorrow at one instead of twelve? I’ve got this thing to finish for school, and–”

“Lunch?” Changbin repeats around a mouthful of foam. Did he make lunch plans with Felix? Then it dawns on him that yes he did, when he first bumped into Felix during the early stages of the party the night before. He can’t believe he forgot. Especially not with all the _thinking_ he’s been doing about Felix as of late. “Right, lunch. Sorry, I’ve had a lot going on today. It must’ve slipped my mind.”

He hears Felix snort on the other end of the line. “It’s a good thing I called then, isn’t it?” Muffled noises come in through the receiver and Changbin guesses Felix is shuffling around. “So is one okay then?”

“Oh, yeah. ‘Course it is.” And it is okay, only there’s a tense ache in Changbin’s fingertips, and he can already tell he’s going to work himself up over this. He always gets like this when he’s made the mistake of arranging a meeting with his friends on a bad day, mainly attributed to the uncertainty of whether he’ll have anything interesting to contribute to the conversation, or whether he’ll make an absolute fool of himself. This time it feels different. He can’t tell whether it’s worse or slightly more bearable. All he knows is that he shouldn’t be stressing himself out over something as innocent as this because Felix is his best friend, and God knows he’ll tease the life out of Changbin if he finds out he was panicking over a simple lunch.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. G’night,” Felix says, and his voice is suddenly half an octave lower, thick with exhaustion he’s probably been fighting to contain since Changbin picked up the phone. Changbin thinks it’s cute. He can envision the way Felix is rubbing gingerly at the corners of his eyes, suppressing a weary yawn with the back of his hand.

“Goodnight, Felix,” Changbin replies. He feels conflicted about hanging up first but he does it anyway, mostly for Felix’s sake. The poor boy sounds as if he’s about to doze off on his feet. Then Changbin rinses off his toothbrush, tugs on an old t-shirt, and climbs into bed. It isn’t long before he’s snoring softly into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to those of you who have given support so far, it means a lot and inspires me to keep going forward with this <3


	3. Chapter 3

When Changbin eventually sets foot outside, it’s colder than he expects it to be. The air is still, biting where it hits his skin, and it carries a faint aroma of dead leaves and wood smoke. He’s been out the door for all of ten seconds and it’s already making his nose run. Sniffling once, he hurries down the stone steps behind the apartments and turns sharply down the nearest street.

The time he and Felix arranged to meet at was one o’clock. If Changbin’s watch isn’t behind again, then he should have ten minutes to get to the café. He decides to check his phone to be safe. _Shit,_ he thinks, pace quickening. He only has four minutes. It isn’t that big of a deal because the café is a few blocks away, but this is the first time he’s gone out with Felix in what feels like forever and he desperately wants to leave a good impression. It’s with an inward chuckle that he realizes he probably has more time than he thinks. Felix is usually late to these things anyway.

Despite the fact that his hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his fingertips are growing numb, almost to the point of pain. He clenches his fists and presses on. He should’ve put on more layers before he left. The sky above him is the colour of damp cement, but the clouds in the distance are bordering on dark and smoky, and it seems as if it might begin to rain soon. Changbin hopes not. As much as he despises being cold, being wet _and_ cold is far worse.

It takes maybe five more minutes for him to stop outside his destination. The café is a relatively nondescript building with frosty windows and a low roof. There are a few items that stand out however, like the vivid flowerpots placed by the entrance and the flickering neon sign in the window. When Changbin enters, a soothing warmth sweeps over him. It seeps into his body, thawing his skin and soothing his bones. The dim lights are inviting, washing the room in shades of buttery yellow and orange, and he can’t remember what it’s like to be cold.

It comes as no surprise to him that Felix hasn’t arrived yet. Changbin thinks that maybe it’s encoded in his DNA to be late for everything. Not wanting to find a table just yet, he decides to order himself a drink and some food because he’s starving from his ten minute walk and needs to sate the rumbling in his stomach.

By the time Changbin leaves the counter with his coffee and a ham sandwich, Felix has arrived and is seated comfortably in an armchair in the corner of the room. There’s a quaint wooden table in front of him and it’s… empty.

“You didn’t get yourself anything to eat?” Changbin asks as he approaches the table. It’s a strange turn of events, because Felix always seems to be stuffing his face.

A barely noticeable pout turns Felix’s lips and he replies, “I thought you were going to get me something. God, what a bully.” Changbin tenses. Was he supposed to order for Felix? Before he can panic, a lighthearted smile washes over Felix’s features and Changbin is once again at ease. It really has been too long since he’s gone out with him. He should be able to tell when he’s joking by now. “I’m just messing with you. I was waiting for you to get here so you knew where to sit. Keeping the seats warm for you, if you will.”

“I could’ve sat anywhere, it wouldn’t have made any difference,” Changbin points out.

Squinting up at him, Felix gives a dissatisfied grunt. “Nope. The corner seats are always the nicest, no question about it.” He seems determined, stubborn in his stance on the matter, so Changbin doesn’t push.

When Felix gets up to order his lunch, Changbin sits down. The armchair is snug and pleasant to sink into. He doesn’t understand why there aren’t regular plastic chairs in the café, but he certainly isn’t complaining. It’s a nice touch, he thinks. Very cozy.

Despite Changbin’s ease after settling into his seat, without Felix’s presence there to distract him, he’s left alone with his thoughts once again. He feels shaky, nervous, because he truthfully has no way of telling how this is going to go. He’s still somewhat hungover from Friday night and his skull throbs, hands cold and unsteady, and hot bile rises like gasoline in his throat. He should have stayed at home. If Felix mentions the kiss, Changbin will implode. His fate will remain the same if Felix doesn’t bring it up, because he’s _desperate_ to know how Felix feels about it, whether it bothers him or not. For the hundredth time in the past forty-eight hours, Changbin feels childish. He tells himself it’s not that big of a deal. Only it _is,_ because maybe Felix means more to him than he wants to admit. Maybe replaying the moment in his head over and over again, endlessly like a broken record has forced him to face the fact that Felix is more to him than a good friend. Changbin wants to kiss him again.

“I’m back, did you miss me?” Felix drops gracelessly into his seat, placing a hot chocolate and a cupcake on the table before him. When he catches Changbin eyeing it incredulously, he grins. “Sandwiches are for the weak, mate. Dessert is all I care about right now.” And if that isn’t the most Felix thing Changbin’s ever heard, he doesn’t know what is.

Once they start eating, their banter dwindles to quiet chatter, which quickly fades to easy silence. Changbin doesn’t mind. It’s rude to talk with a mouth stuffed full of food, after all. The lull in conversation gives him time to think. It isn’t the same scrambled sort of anxiety he experienced moments before, because Felix’s mere presence gives him peace of mind. He’s here. He’s placid. He’s content.

At any other point in time, Changbin would concentrate entirely upon his sandwich. However, with Felix seated so nearby he can’t help the way his gaze gravitates towards him, dragging slowly over his wind-kissed face. Changbin takes him in. Felix’s cheeks are flushed pink where the cold breeze berated his freckled skin, lips pursed as he chews his cupcake. Changbin notices a stray crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth, but opts not to say anything. He’s being creepy enough as it is.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for Felix to notice Changbin’s stare boring into him. He glances up from his plate. “You okay, Binnie? You look a little dopey,” he says, concern edging on the corners of his voice. He narrows his eyes and leans in, brow furrowed, right cheek stuffed almost comically with cake and frosting. “Y’know, you’re looking kind of pale.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Changbin replies sullenly. He rests his chin in the palm of his hand to hide his blushing cheeks. “It’s not my fault. It’s the hangover, remember? We can’t all look as good as you after getting hammered.” Felix lets out a muffled bark of laughter at that, and Changbin fights to keep a smile from emerging on his face.

It isn’t long before they’ve finished eating. Changbin isn’t sure whether Felix expects him to leave or stay with him for a bit longer so he remains rooted in place, hands awkwardly clasped on the table. He can’t remember the last time he felt so unsure around Felix. He’s unable to pin a name to discomfort that clogs his lungs, chokes him, has been choking him for days, but that doesn’t stop it from hindering him. There’s an amicable sort of confidence between Felix and him that just isn’t there anymore. Maybe it’s just him. He hopes for the love of God it’s just him.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me?” Felix asks after several beats of silence. It takes Changbin a moment to come out of the dreamy space in his head, the one where he was doing nothing but staring at Felix’s lips, soft and cerise, and as soon as he’s regained focus his eyes drop to briefly check them out. They’re equally as lush as he remembers, only that damn crumb is still stuck to his upper lip. Felix doesn’t seem to notice that he’s distracted, continuing, “I know we only arranged to get lunch together and all, but I haven’t spoken to you while sober in a while and I miss you.”

That steals Changbin’s attention. He misses Felix too. If he thinks about it, they haven’t hung out like this in just over a month. It’s pleasant to be able to do little more than relax and chat with Felix after a drearily long drought of his affections.

Changbin’s made up his mind before he can fully comprehend it. “Yeah, of course I want to. Are you going anywhere in particular, or is it just for the exercise?” He honestly doesn’t mind either way; time with Felix is time with Felix, regardless of whether he’s shopping for groceries or meandering along the streets.

“I was just going to wander around, y’know? Take a look at the shops and all that,” Felix replies as he scrunches up his napkin, fiddling with the corners distractedly. He looks up and grins. “I might even get some more food. Who knows? Definitely not you, unless you come with me.” Whether it’s a promise or an offer, Changbin can’t tell. All he knows is that even a minor possibility of more food _plus_ being around Felix sounds better than just about anything he’s heard of in the entirety of his life.

“Fine then, I’m in. But not for too long, got it? It’s fucking freezing out there,” Changbin says with a sigh. They haven’t even stepped through the door yet and his nose is already running. With one look at Felix, it doesn’t matter. He’s beaming, teeth endearingly crooked and blindingly white, and it makes all of Changbin’s concerns melt away like ice under the sun. He can do this. Screw the weather.

As soon as they’ve left behind the cozy comfort of the café, Changbin’s filled with regret. No, he can’t do this. Not with the way the wind is irately whipping at his face, nor with how it somehow penetrates his skin to solidify the flesh underneath, filling his nostrils until all he can smell is blood. Nothing can convince him otherwise, not even the amused snicker that escapes Felix when he glances towards Changbin. If anything, that only makes it worse.

“Is something funny?” Changbin asks bitterly. He almost wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth, because frigid air hits the back of his throat and makes him want to choke. Felix chuckles again.

“You’re dumb,” he says, states it as if it’s a definite fact. Maybe because it kind of is. “You seriously left your place wearing only a hoodie? I’m sorry, mate, but that’s just asking for frostbite.” And as soon as the words tumble from his lips, Changbin’s fingers begin to feel suspiciously purple. He’s going to sue if they fall off.

“You’re the one from Australia. How come you’re not complaining right now, huh?” Changbin retorts, perhaps a little childishly.

Felix leans in, slipping his arm around Changbin’s shoulders and pulling him against the side of his chest. “Because,” he impishly prods Changbin’s cheek with his index finger, “I’m not as dumb as you. I dressed appropriately for the weather.”

“I guess that’s the thing with foreigners. They’re always better prepared than the natives,” Changbin says. He’s struggling to remain focused on their conversation because the hand Felix has resting on his shoulder is small, almost delicate in appearance, and it seems to be allowing a small amount of heat to seep into Changbin’s bones. After a moment of hesitation, he reaches his own arm around Felix’s waist.

They stroll about like that for a while, arms tight around each other, and Changbin doesn’t feel like he’s freezing to death anymore. He can’t tell whether it’s because of Felix’s emotional or physical presence, but he doesn’t care. It feels too damn _good._ When they’ve slipped in and out of several shops with stock too expensive for them to afford, Felix offers to walk him home. It doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. He agrees, struggling to keep his expression neutral so he doesn’t seem too pleased.

It feels like mere seconds have passed by the time they reach Changbin’s block of apartments. Perhaps it’s because he’d gone out with such low expectations, but being with Felix has been the most pleasant part of his week by far. Hell, maybe even his entire month.

“I had fun,” Felix says, grinning, bottom lip clasped between his teeth. He looks adorable where he stands, the rose blossoming over his cheekbones making his freckles stand out like miniature clusters of stars. Changbin is so preoccupied with taking him in that he almost forgets to reply.

“Me too. We should do this again soon. I’ll text you, yeah?” It’s cliché and it makes him want to gag, but it’s at the very least honest.

“Yeah, sure.”

Changbin smiles when Felix does, waves as Felix waves, and turns to walk inside after Felix’s back has disappeared around the corner. It seems as though there’s a transparent veil of misery hanging over the door because as soon as Changbin steps through it, his heart sinks several meters and he wants nothing more than to crawl into bed. His muscles ache. His joints are stiff. A decade has been dropped on his back, although he doubts it shows. He’s up the stairs and halfway to his door when he hears a voice.

“Hey! Hey, Changbin!” It’s his neighbour, Minho, poking his head around his door. Changbin’s never been sure of how he feels about Minho. Sometimes he loves him because they’re similar in so many ways, like how they both harbour an overwhelming distaste for carrots and like getting wasted on the weekends. At other times, he really, really hates him because he’s annoying and loud and always _there,_ and Changbin’s almost certain Minho’s broken into his apartment and stolen his socks on more than one occasion.

“What do you want, Minho?” he sighs. He tries to make it come out sounding pleasant, he honestly does, but even he can hear the way his tone shrivels at the edges.

Minho slithers out from around the door and leans against the wall. His arms are crossed loosely in front of him, smugness exuding from his every pore. “I was talking to Chan earlier. He told me you and Felix were going on a little _date._ ” It isn’t difficult for Changbin to decide that he doesn’t feel good about Minho at the moment. “How’d it go?”

“It went,” Changbin replies evenly as he slips his key into the lock. Their building is relatively old, and Changbin sometimes wishes they had electronic door locks like the ones he saw at a fancy hotel when he was on vacation in North America.

“That’s not very specific,” Minho says. The pouty lilt in his voice grates on Changbin’s nerves. He takes a deep breath and does his best to remain calm. Without turning around, Changbin forces a laugh and fights to free his key from the lock. The faster he gets inside, the better.

“We just went out for lunch and stuff.” He exhales gratefully as his key finally slips loose. “We’re probably going to hang out again soon, I just need to text him about it.” In his rush to get out of the hallway he nearly trips over the loose flap of carpet outside his door, but it doesn’t bother him for once. His only concern is escaping Minho. Soon enough, he’s inside, almost safe. “Oh, and it wasn’t a date.” Despite his efforts to shut the door gently, it echoes like he’d slammed it. Then again, it isn’t unlikely that he did.

Changbin doesn’t get around to texting Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully everything's flowing well so far! i'll be honest, i'm just writing this as i go for once. if there are things that don't add up, just let me know lmao


	4. Chapter 4

October fades into November and fallen leaves are covered with snow. What was only weeks ago a vibrant landscape of amber and gold is now black and white, the city dusted with a shallow layer of frost. It’s that kind of weather that Changbin knows is too cold for him to handle but he can’t seem to shake the way it makes him crave the outdoors. However, he begrudgingly resists, opting instead to spend what time he isn’t in class or at work at home with a large mug of bitter coffee.

Two weeks have passed since Changbin last saw Felix. He hasn’t texted him since, although Felix has tried to contact him several times. It tugs at something in Changbin’s chest every time he sees a notification from him pop up on his phone screen, but he’s never mustered the courage to reply. Nothing feels quite right. It’s as if Changbin’s too small for the skin he’s been fitted in, and occasionally he forgets he exists, that he isn’t simply watching a movie on a screen. It’s been a while since he’s felt this way.

Three days have passed since Felix’s last attempt to reach him. Changbin doesn’t know how to feel about it. There’s a chance he’s just busy with school, that he’s decided to wait for Changbin to reply instead of fruitlessly pestering him, but there’s also a chance he’s angry. Changbin would be too if he were in his situation. He decides not to worry about it too much, mostly because it would be greedy of him to want Felix to waste his days trying to reach him with no reply.

But Changbin _is_ greedy, at least part of the time. He can’t mask the displeasure that nips at his throat as someone that definitely isn’t Felix tries to call him. It’s Jisung. He doesn’t know what it is, but something in the spur of the moment possesses him to answer the phone.

“Hey, Jisung.”

A soft laugh flutters on the other end. “Hi. You sound tired, did you just wake up?” Jisung asks, and the static flickering through the line doesn’t quite hide the concern in his voice. It’s sweet, at least Changbin thinks so. It breathes life into a small nodule of guilt he feels at his reluctance to pick up the call.

He’s faced with the temptation to lie, to confirm what Jisung had guessed and explain that it hasn’t been long since he woke up, but it’s _Jisung_ he’s talking to. They don’t lie to each other. Even if he tried to, he’s certain Jisung would pick up on it. “I actually didn’t go to sleep last night,” Changbin admits. There’s silence on the other end. It doesn’t last long.

“What– Are you okay? Did something happen? Do you want me to come over?” Jisung has always been far too good to him. It’s heartwarming at times, stressful at others. Now, however, is a time that Changbin is suffused with nothing but pure appreciation.

“It’s not that something happened,” he says slowly, carefully, trying to piece the sentence together in his mind as he speaks, “it’s more the opposite.” Something icy scuttles over his nape as he’s reminded once again that Felix might not want to talk to him anymore. Changbin hasn’t exactly been kind to him.

A sigh. A pause. It sounds like Jisung’s struggling to translate his thoughts and feelings into words, and he sighs again, a little puff of air that fizzles through Changbin’s speaker. Eventually, he replies, “You can talk to me about these things. I hope you know that.”

“I do.” Changbin’s always known that Jisung has his back. It’s just the sort of friendship they have, characterized by lighthearted teasing and fierce loyalty. Changbin likes to think of him as the water to his flame, because if there’s anyone that can pacify his hotheaded tendencies, it’s Jisung.

“Okay, good. Just making sure,” Jisung says. “You know you can be really stupid sometimes, right? So I mean it when I tell you to come to me. I am, believe it or not, a hell of a lot brighter than you. I’m wise as fuck.” He’s wrong on that count, but Changbin doesn’t correct him. Calling Jisung stupid would only make him pouty for a few days, which is exactly the scenario Changbin wants to avoid.

The next few hours are passed idly chattering with Jisung over the phone. They’re pleasant, and more importantly distracting, so Changbin can’t help but feel heavy when Jisung has to hang up. Never before in his life has he yearned so wretchedly for classes or a shift at the card shop, or just about anything to take his mind off his depressed boredom.

For lack of something better to do, Changbin kneels on the couch by his window and folds his arms over the back, resting his chin on his forearms. It’s snowing again. It takes a few seconds for him to notice because of how black it is outside, but he sees snowflakes fluttering elegantly under the streetlight situated across the street. The delicate blanket of snow on the ground before had been turning beige, but is now concealed with fresh pearl. It’s gorgeous in a refreshing sort of way. He likes it.

 

 

At some point between finishing his coffee and gazing out at the snowflakes, Changbin must have drifted off. The light filtering in through the window is pale and his neck is stiff, aches when he tries to turn his head. He groans, voice brittle and rusty with sleep, and hauls himself up from the couch he’s sprawled on.

One glance at the screen of his phone tells him it’s quarter past seven on a Wednesday morning. Changbin doesn’t think he has class until the afternoon—although honestly, it’s not like he’s actually going to check—so he staggers into the kitchen to brew himself another pot of coffee.

Over the span of the next ten minutes, Changbin does a number of stupid things. Firstly, he picks up his mug of freshly poured coffee by the body instead of the handle, which sends searing pain lancing up his arm and leaves the skin of his palm reddened. He slips on a wet patch on the floor, slamming his shin into the table in his desperate efforts to avoid spilling the contents of the mug. He tries to take a sip while laying down. He forgets to run his burns under icy water. Irked and sore, love-related anxiety slips from his mind. He ends up texting Felix.

 **changbin**  
hey  
i burned myself, can you believe it?

 **lix**  
lmao that sucks

It does suck, but that’s not the point. Changbin didn’t reach out to Felix so he could receive a line of lackluster sympathy. It takes a moment for the weight of what he’s done to hit him but once it does, he feels as though the blood is being drained from his head. His chest tightens. There’s a reason why he was avoiding a situation like this, and he’s suddenly painfully aware of it. Felix could be mad. From the contents of his text he is, although Changbin’s hesitant to draw his conclusion from something as uninformative as a line of pixels.

After a short period of fighting to keep calm, Changbin decides he’ll deal with it tomorrow. He has better things to do than panic about situations beyond his control. Besides, there’s a high possibility he’s simply overreacting again. He’ll visit Felix and act as if everything’s normal, and hopefully it will be. Problem solved.

Only he can’t say that for certain just yet, and it bothers him for the rest of the morning, all the way until he’s hurrying down the street in the freshly fallen snow to get to class.

 

 

For the first time in months, Changbin does what he tells himself he’s going to do. It’s just past ten o’clock at night and he’s treading carefully over icy pathways to reach Felix’s house. He’s already nearly slipped more times than he can count, and he’s barely halfway there. He can only imagine what state he’ll be in by the time he arrives.

The only concern on his mind is whether Felix is still awake or not. He should be since he’s a disobedient brat that always ignores Changbin’s urgent, albeit hypocritical demands to go to bed at a decent hour. If tonight is the one night Felix decides to take his advice to heart, he’s going to kill him.

A series of cautious steps finds Changbin standing on Felix’s porch, knocking on the front door with mixed eagerness and reluctance. He figures that if he’s aiming for a casual, nothing-is-wrong-at-all approach to the situation, showing up at half past ten probably isn’t the wisest decision. What if Felix’s parents are home? What if he’s getting ready for bed? Both scenarios result in Changbin leaving with embarrassment and a heavy conscience. Fortunately for him, Felix opens the door. It doesn’t seem as though anyone else is at home.

“Can I help you?” he asks, and his voice is that murky, rusted bronze it becomes when he hasn’t used it for a while. It makes Changbin’s heart leap into his throat, although he can’t tell whether it’s from excitement or fear. Standing before Felix now, Changbin can’t help but feel ridiculous and desperate. It’s almost as if regardless of what he says, whatever excuse he decides to thrust forward, it’s going to come out sounding fake. He tightens his hands into fists in his pockets.

“Oh, I just wanted to talk. It’s been a while,” Changbin replies unsteadily. He wants nothing more than to kick himself when Felix offers a thin-lipped smile. He decides to try again. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time together, right?”

Felix shrugs. “I guess not. Come on in.” Stepping aside, he holds the door open for Changbin, and Changbin nods gratefully as he slips inside.

The inside of the house is about five degrees warmer than Changbin finds comfortable. It always is during the colder seasons, has been ever since he first set foot in it. Felix’s body spent years adapting to the torrid climate of Australia and it’s stuck with him. Changbin’s learned not to comment on it. Instead, he focuses on the liberation it grants him after his marrow-chilling trek through the icy outdoors. He follows Felix into the kitchen, where he sits at the counter while Felix rummages through the fridge.

“What did you want to talk about?” Felix asks all of a sudden, catching Changbin off guard. He must notice the way Changbin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise because he continues, “You said you wanted to talk. Do you have something on your mind, or…?”

Changbin can tell that Felix knows the answer to his own question. He doesn’t bother lying. “Yeah. A lot, actually,” he replies.

“Obviously. You’d never come all the way out here for no reason.” Felix’s smile is rigid, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Changbin tries to be positive, tries to focus on little things that don’t make him regret coming, but it seems to him that he keeps losing his footing as he’s inched back into the shadows. Felix’s smile doesn’t thaw.

“Listen, I’m really sorry for ignoring you these past few weeks. I’ve had a lot going on in my head. What with that and all the schoolwork I’ve had to finish, it’s been hard keeping up with my social life,” Changbin says, and he wonders when he’s going to finally stop feeding his friends half-truths. It shouldn’t be so hard for him to be honest with Felix. Part of him knows that. It still doesn’t change the fact that there’s a thick sheet of glass between them, frosted and soundproof and impossible to speak through. He thinks he might have put it up himself.

Felix comes to sit beside him with two cans of iced tea. He sets one in front of Changbin. “You can talk to me about whatever. Whenever. It’s not like I’m an awful listener, and I really do care.” The words that tumble from his lips are beginning to sound like land mines. Changbin doesn’t know where to step.

“I know, I know.” He thinks he’s had this conversation before. He releases a soft sigh, dragging his fingers along the frigid edges of the can in his palms. “But it’s not something I feel comfortable sharing with anyone. It’s not just you.” Changbin feels the ground give out beneath him when Felix’s eyes darken, tongue sweeping stray droplets of tea from his bottom lip. He knows he’s misstepped.

“That’s not what Chan told me,” Felix says. He’s staring down at the tea on the counter, eyes focused on its curves. Changbin knows that’s not where his attention truly lies. He’s at a loss for words once again because if there’s anyone he can trust, it’s Chan. He didn’t expect to be given away so easily.

Sweat beads on his brow. “What did he tell you?” It’s a pointless question. He’d be stupid not to know by this point. Besides, it’s not like he told Chan much besides what he didn’t want him to tell Felix.

“He said you think I’m going to get all weird because I kissed you,” Felix says flatly, and Changbin feels his stomach tighten. His ears heat up. He scans Felix’s face for any signs of disgust, of regret, but all he can read is disappointment. “To be honest, I figured that’s what it was. I was waiting for you to tell me. I don’t know, Changbin. I… You think I’d actually make a big deal out of something as dumb as that? Really? I’m not five years old.” That fills Changbin’s lungs with stones. It seems like a personal jab and it wounds his pride, but he tries to tell himself that wasn’t Felix’s intention. It shouldn’t make him angry even though it does.

“If it was so dumb then why did you act like it meant something?” The words are acidic as they rise in his throat, burning his esophagus all the way up and out to his tongue. “You’re honestly telling me _I_ overreacted? I’m not the one who pranced about the town acting like we were a couple afterwards,” he snaps. The roof of his mouth is hot and tastes like vomit.

Jaw clenching, Felix finally meets his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice is dangerously low, wavering in the way it does when he’s restraining himself from yelling.

“You’re really going to ask me that? You were way too happy for someone who got piss drunk only a couple of nights before. And last time I checked, you weren’t so damn _clingy_ all the fucking time. You weren’t so annoying.” With each syllable he utters, his heart gets heavier, sinking lower and lower in his ribcage. He doesn’t want to say these things, but it’s like a part of him just has to release them. He’s so riled up by this point that he’s tripping over his words and he knows he sounds like an idiot. Hell, he might even sound like he’s about to cry. All of it pales in comparison to the expression of raw vulnerability on Felix’s face. It vanishes as quickly as it arrived.

“Maybe you saw it that way because you wanted to, but that wasn’t what it was at all.” Felix is cold. His walls are up. His gaze falters, briefly dropping to his hands where they’re clenched on the marble countertop. “All this shit is going on ‘cause you’re too fucking insecure to trust your own friends. And I’m disappointed, honestly, ‘cause you’re supposed to be open with me about things that bother you, especially if they involve me. I can help. I’m not completely useless.”

Panic beginning to manifest in his skull, Changbin’s rage dims. “That’s not what I meant, Felix,” he says, suddenly quiet.

Silence. Changbin hears a car door slam outside. Felix looks to him, then to the window. “I think you should leave,” he says. He sounds strained, tone tinctured with emotion Changbin can’t quite pinpoint. Felix is avoiding meeting his gaze again. When Changbin looks closely, he thinks he sees tears brimming in his eyes.

So Changbin leaves. His insides are an uncomfortable tangle of anxiety and regret, but he knows there’s nothing he can do to fix things right now. He’ll have to stomach it. Maybe everything will feel less awful after he’s had some sleep.

He has an awkward brush with Felix’s parents on his way through the door. He doesn’t want to consider what they’ll think of him when they find their son crying upstairs, so he forces a smile and pushes his way outside. The moment he’s at the end of the driveway, sharp wind whips at his cheeks and he can finally breathe. That’s when the tears start to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope things make sense so far! friendly reminder i'm winging it lmao, but i think i finally know where i want to take this story.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Changbin wakes up, the taut ache in his chest hasn’t dissipated. If anything it’s only intensified, his mind magnifying the stress and pain while his body was shut off for the night. His eyelashes feel grainy. The skin of his cheeks feels abnormally dry. He’s certain that if he somehow manages to drag himself out of bed and over to the mirror, his eyes will be pink with burst blood vessels. He can’t find it in himself to care, not like he would most days. It’s not like he’s planning on leaving the building anytime soon.

Someone knocks on his door. The sound grates on his eardrums. After spending a few more moments staring blankly up at the ceiling, Changbin trudges the distance from his bed to the door. He doesn’t want to see anyone today. He hopes they’ve given up and left. Irritatingly, he’s let down when another knock sounds, this time louder and right when he’s about to unlock the door. He’s momentarily tempted to walk away, mainly just for the pleasure of spiting whoever it is on the other side. He opens up anyway.

“Hey– Oh. Good morning, sunshine.” Minho. Changbin’s headache worsens at the sight of him. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed like he’s some kind of fucking model, never mind the fact that he should be with a face like his. Changbin doesn’t know why he’s shown up all of a sudden. It’s been a long, peaceful while since their last uncomfortable encounter.

Rubbing wearily at his face, Changbin replies, “What do you want, Minho.” He can’t salvage enough energy to make it sound like he’s asking a question.

“Milk,” Minho says simply, although his brow is creasing in a way that makes Changbin feel multiple emotions at once. Namely, dread. He thinks he should slam the door shut before Minho starts asking questions, but he doesn’t quite get the chance. Minho leans forwards to squint at him. “Are you high or something? Your eyes are red.”

Changbin snorts. Of course that’s the first conclusion Minho jumps to, of all things. “No. Now go away, I don’t have any milk.” He does have milk, but none of it is for Minho. At least, not while he’s being an irritating wretch.

Minho doesn’t seem to process his reply. Instead, he leans in further, hand coming to rest on Changbin’s shoulder. His palms are shockingly cold, even through the thin cotton of Changbin’s shirt. “Have you been crying?” he asks. There’s something akin to concern in the look he gives him.

“No,” Changbin replies flatly. It’s clear Minho can see through him, despite how he endeavours to spin a convincing lie. The worry in his eyes makes Changbin uncomfortable, makes his skin prickle, so he attempts a final time to get rid of him. “Look, I have things to do. If you could please just get lost, that’d be great.” He feels shivers crawl across his skin under Minho’s relentless scrutiny. It seems as if he’s about to say something, like he might not go away, but he eventually concedes.

“Fine then, I’ll go,” he says, halfway through the motion of turning around before halting. A shallow wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. “By the way, Jisung told me to tell you he wants to see you. Something about wanting to get you out of your room or whatever.”

“Oh.” It sounds like something Jisung would say, and of course he’d ask Minho to tell him. Changbin can’t fathom how Jisung finds Minho so damn charming, but he’s careful not to ask lest he receives an answer he doesn’t like. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Even if you don’t go, make sure he knows I told you, got it? He’ll have my head otherwise,” Minho grumbles under his breath, and Changbin catches himself wondering when they got close enough to exchange death threats.

Minho finally leaves after that, and Changbin’s left pondering over the regret heavy in his stomach and the milk he has in the fridge. When he checks the clock, it’s not as late as he’s expecting it to be, because it’s seven in the morning and he usually doesn’t manage to crawl out of bed until ten. At least it leaves him with plenty of time to decide whether he’s going to take Jisung up on his offer or not. Every cell in his body is screaming at him not to, because his head is splitting and his stomach is knotting and blood is leaking from his every pore, but he hates letting Jisung down. He hates the penitent ache that lingers in his bones after he’s turned him down. Therefore, he ends up texting Jisung to agree to his plans despite the weakness in his knees and the throbbing behind his eyes.

He’s going to have fun. He’s _going_ to have fun. Maybe if he repeats the thought enough times it’ll become engraved in his brain. Maybe he’ll start to believe it.

 

 

“You look like shit,” is the first thing Jisung says when he lays eyes on Changbin. Funnily enough, Changbin knows. He figures that if he feels like shit, it’s no wonder it manages to manifest on his face, or any other part of his body. The sharp crust his tears embedded in his eyelashes is still there, as is the puffiness around his eyes and the dullness of his skin. His heart feels worse for wear too, but he knows Jisung can’t see that.

“Thanks, Jisung. I really appreciate it,” Changbin says as he moves to sit down, tone not devoid of biting snark. Jisung recoils as though stung and furrows his brow.

“Why are you such a grump today? Are you still freaking out about Felix?” he asks. His expression thins when he receives no answer. He sucks in a heavy breath before steadily letting it go. “C’mon, Changbin. I get that you’re whipped and all but he really shouldn’t be controlling your life. I don’t think he’d be very happy with you if he knew you were letting him get you down like this.”

Changbin almost lets a dry chuckle escape. “I don’t think he’s very happy with me anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asks slowly, frown deepening. Changbin gives an inward sigh because he really doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to sew and blend separate pieces of his life together when it will only result in inescapable stress. He wants to allow himself contentment with Jisung without him acting as if he needs to release his pent-up emotions all the time.

“I guess we got in a fight. I haven’t had a chance to apologize yet,” Changbin explains, but Jisung senses his reluctance to speak.

“That’s fine. Give him time, he’ll come around eventually.” Wrapping his fingers around Changbin’s wrist, he tugs him up and out of his chair, leading him down the hallway to his bedroom. “I’ve got some cool stuff to show you. My mom bought me this new laptop, and it’s so much faster than the old one–”

Changbin stops paying attention after that. He sinks into his subconscious, not noticing the way Jisung’s voice fades into the background. It’s not that his thoughts are distracting him again. If anything, it’s the opposite. His mind his blank, but not empty, almost as though it’s been packed tightly with straw. He can’t decide whether he finds it comforting or unnerving. Either way, it offers respite from the stinging in his chest and he’s grateful for that.

Hours pass as Changbin peruses the video games Jisung stores in his room, and eventually they unanimously decide to go for a walk around the neighbourhood. It’s still freezing outside, has been for nearly a month now, but Jisung offers Changbin a scarf and a thick pair of gloves that thankfully fit. Sometimes it pays to have a friend that’s around his size.

The first step outdoors comes as a shock to Changbin after lounging around inside for most of the day. It feels as if his nostrils have been frozen upon contact with the harsh air, and he fights the sudden and violent urge to cough. He’s almost certain ice crystals are forming in his lungs. Fortunately, the ground isn’t as slippery as it was yesterday, so both Changbin and Jisung manage to make their way down the driveway free of injuries.

“Do you want to go to the first or second turning?” Jisung asks as they waddle their way up the road. It seems like a stupid question to Changbin because they’ll surely get frostbite if they stray further than absolutely necessary, but then again he doubts Jisung would care. He’s vehement about getting enough fresh air. Changbin considers himself lucky stopping at the first turning is even an option. And although he feels grateful, he can’t help but be suspicious.

“How about we just walk and decide when we get there,” he replies. They’ve been outside for all of two minutes and his lips already feel frozen, too stiff to form the correct sounds to his words. It doesn’t matter though, because Jisung seems to understand what he’s trying to say.

They end up settling for the shortest route around the neighbourhood. Changbin almost feels a sense of regret because the trees look ethereal when their spindly branches are layered with fresh snow, and he knows that snow will be blown off in a matter of days. There’s something oddly placating about being out in the open during the winter. He almost doesn’t recognize the street Jisung lives on because everything’s so _white_ , blanketed in pure ivory and silver. Jisung is hurrying through the snow at a curiously brisk pace. Changbin finds it strange that he isn’t slowing down to take in the scenery, but he doesn’t question it.

By the time they make it back inside, Changbin’s concern for Jisung has only doubled. He seems guilty now, and almost apologetic. It frightens Changbin more than he’ll admit. He kicks off his shoes by the entrance and allows Jisung to lead him upstairs, the fixed grip on his wrist setting off dozens of alarms in his head. He can’t tell whether it’s there to assuage his rapidly increasing fear or to keep him from turning and bolting down the staircase.

“Don’t freak out,” Jisung says once they reach the top of the stairs, “but I might have invited Felix over earlier.” Changbin’s heart plummets. There’s something sharp and unpleasant gnawing at his sternum, body pumped full of adrenaline that he knows is meant to help him get the hell out of the house but is only serving to make him feel even more anxious.

“Why the fuck would you do that,” Changbin hisses, fighting to keep his voice hushed in case anyone else is inside.

Nervously cracking his knuckles, Jisung says, “Look, I did it before I knew you guys were on bad terms. I thought it’d be funny to see you get all flustered and stuff.” He searches Changbin’s face, eyes wide and pupils blown, and he looks so panicked that Changbin can’t find it in himself to be angry with him.

“Does he know I’m here?” It’s a question that he’s almost reluctant to ask. It doesn’t change anything whether Felix knows or not, because Changbin’s still going to want to cry the moment he sees him, and he’s still going to be at a loss for words. What should he say, anyway? What _can_ he say? It’d be strange to offer an apology that at the very least seems genuine with Jisung around.

Jisung shakes his head. “No. I wanted to see him freak out too.” Expression dropping at Changbin’s weary sigh, he says, “What do you want me to do? I can’t just tell him to go home! I’d feel awful if I did.”  
  
Changbin’s about to agree with him, to apologize for the way he reacted, but he’s interrupted by the sudden chime of the doorbell. It’s louder than he thinks it should be, blaring in a way that makes his ears ache. He feels sick. His lungs are filled with tar. As much as he wants to walk away and slip out through the back door, he knows this is an opportunity he might not receive again. There’s a chance he’ll be able to thaw Felix.

Jisung is already at the door letting Felix in, so Changbin figures he might as well wait for them to come upstairs. He makes his way into Jisung’s room and drops down onto his bed. He wants desperately to seem relaxed, but his shoulders are tense and his back is stiff in a way he can’t fake his way around. Footsteps pace down the hallway. With each padded _thud_ he feels his throat constricting a little more.

“…But it was weird, ‘cause she’s never yelled at me like that before, and– Oh.” The door opens. Felix has halted in the entryway, expression one of both shock and confusion. Changbin would find it hilarious if he could breathe. If there’s one thing that piques his interest, it’s the charcoal hoodie covering Felix’s slim frame, evidently a size too small despite the fact he’s rolled up the sleeves. Changbin recognizes the hoodie because it belongs to him.

“Oh, right, um… I asked Changbin to come over too, I hope that’s okay? I thought we could all play video games together or something,” Jisung says. He sounds strained, and Changbin feels sorry for not saying anything to help him.

Felix’s eyes flicker with something dark before he’s smiling that radiant smile of his. It almost looks real, save for the fact it doesn’t quite make the corners of his eyes crinkle in the way Changbin’s come to love. “That’s fine. It doesn’t hurt to have an extra person to beat.” The tips of Changbin’s ears burn.

They end up deciding against video games, opting instead to sit curled up on the couch together with a movie. It’s an Australian film, something supposedly scary about a woman and her son, but Changbin remains unbothered. Felix sits between him and Jisung and he has his knees up against his chest, head tipped back and resting against the couch. His eyes are trained on the ceiling instead of the screen. Both Changbin and Jisung are aware of his hatred for horror movies, but they somehow managed to coerce him into sitting through one. Changbin still can’t wrap his head around how they did it. He doesn’t really care, because his attention is wavering between the looming shadow on the screen and the way Felix’s throat bobs as he swallows.

“Can we turn it off?” Felix asks softly, leaning against Jisung’s shoulder. His ankle is pressed against the side of Changbin’s knee. Changbin’s focusing on the contact more than he knows he should, because it’s igniting something in his stomach that’s steadily driving him to the point of frustration.

“Fine. I swear you’re, like, five years old or something,” Jisung says with a grin as he pauses the movie.

They lay sprawled across the cushions unmoving for a few more minutes until Jisung wiggles his way out from underneath Felix, insisting that he has to pee. Changbin doesn’t care if he does or not. Jisung has to stay, because the awkwardness in the air intensifies until it’s almost solid once he’s gone. Changbin takes a deep breath, contemplatively running his tongue over his top row of teeth as he glances at Felix out of the corner of his eye.

“Jisung knows what happened. You don’t have to pretend we’re cool,” he says eventually. His skin prickles as he talks.

Eyebrows raising, Felix turns his head slightly and purses his lips, nodding slowly. “Ah. Got it.” Changbin thinks that’s all he’s going to say and he’s almost past the point of wishing to spontaneously combust, but Felix continues. “Wouldn’t it be weird if we fought in front of him though? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“I guess you’re right.” And it’s weird sitting next to him, shoulders touching and hands brushing when Changbin knows they’re not all right. It leaves a heaviness in his bones that he can’t describe. Felix is warm where his skin presses against Changbin’s, breathing barely loud enough for Changbin to detect. It’s strange.

Silence tinges the space between them. Felix bites his lip. “Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling?” he asks quietly. It takes Changbin a moment to realize what he’s talking about. He stares down at his palms, nervously fiddling with his hands as he struggles to think of an answer.

“Because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it? Like, it didn’t seem to bother you that much, so I figured it shouldn’t have messed me up the way it did. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if you remembered it.” He thinks that’s the most honest thing he’s said in a long time. It’s uncomfortable letting it out, and it’s like he’s tugging hair from a shower drain.

Changbin feels Felix’s shoulders twitch as he snorts. “Well I remembered. I wasn’t as drunk as you thought I was, y’know,” Felix says. He shifts slightly on the seat, allowing his legs to drape over the edge. He sucks in a deep breath. “I was pretending I drank more than I did so I could have an excuse to kiss you.”

Changbin’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know how to feel or what to say, but he opens his mouth anyway, figuring he should at least tell Felix he enjoyed the kiss. He doesn’t get the chance. Jisung’s hurrying back into the living room while rubbing his hands together, collapsing next to Felix and snatching the remote from his hands. Changbin’s words die on his tongue and trickle back into his stomach, mixing with the burning excitement and dread churning there.

Jisung starts the movie once more. Felix protests loudly next to him, leaning over his torso to grab fruitlessly at the remote, but Jisung refuses to give it up. Changbin sinks slowly into the back of the couch, heart twisting into knots. Felix wanted to kiss him. He messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story will probably be coming to an end soon, most likely within one or two more chapters. thank you to everyone who's read it so far! it really means a lot to me.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s a Saturday morning and Changbin is lying in bed, content with the blissful realization that he has no classes today. This should mean an entire day of relaxation and ignored essays, only it doesn’t because his heating has been shut off and he’s freezing to death. He’s had to resort to bundling himself up in blankets and old sweaters to keep his body temperature at a normal degree. Beneath the covers, he feels as though he’s wearing an uncomfortably sticky snowsuit. Without the covers, he feels like a bag of frozen peas.

It’s at around ten o’clock that Changbin decides that his hollow stomach is of higher importance than his icy skin. He sheds the blankets and makes his way out into the kitchen, wrinkling his nose at the sight of the dirty dishes piling on the counter. He ignores them and instead gravitates towards the fridge. He’s beginning to involuntarily shiver but he’s past the point of caring, beyond the point where he can find the energy to do just about anything. It’s excruciating because he’s just so fucking _tired_ all the time. He can hardly find it in himself to want to eat.

The cereal in Changbin’s mouth tastes like stale dust. It’s dry and much harder than it should be, and it sticks to his tongue and the roof of his mouth in a way that’s more uncomfortable than the sharp tug of hunger tearing at the pit of his stomach. Disgruntled, he pushes the bowl aside, gritting his teeth against the harsh scratching it produces against the damp wooden tabletop.

For the first time in months, Changbin’s seized by a frantic urge to be outside the apartment. It’s confined. It’s freezing. He knows it’s probably equally chilling out in the snow, but at least he’ll be surrounded by open space. The animated atmosphere of the city during winter has a tendency to clear his head.

It isn’t long before Changbin’s decided to visit the quaint café several blocks down from his apartment complex. He’s starving, stomach gurgling at a volume inappropriate for public spaces, and he’s figures it’s about time he gets something to eat. He doesn’t know whether it’s classified as breakfast or brunch at this time of day, but he finds he doesn’t care all too much when his gut growls in protest. Picking up the pace, he briskly hurries the rest of the distance to the café.

It’s cozy, warm and inviting inside, just as he remembers it was the last time he visited. The lighting is still melted honey. The sturdy armchairs are still set around each shining wooden table. Sleep deprived and famished, it seems to Changbin that the place hasn’t changed at all, instead remaining frozen in time as it waits for him to revisit. It’s a silly thought, although he can’t help but feel convinced.

He ends up ordering black coffee and a ham sandwich. It’s uncomfortably nostalgic, sending his mind reeling back to when everything was still admittedly fraught, but more manageable than it is now. He heads towards the table at the corner of the room and sits down. He feels a bit awkward because the vacant seat across from him is serving as a reminder of just how lonely he is, but he stomachs it and bites into the sandwich. He isn’t as hungry as he was five minutes ago.

An uneasy moment passes before Changbin feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turns around. Behind him stand three boys who look to be around his age, each with a sheepish expression plastered on their flushed faces. He can’t be bothered to give them a proper look, so he simply decides to think of them as the tall one, the medium one, and the short one.

It takes a few seconds for anyone to speak. “Excuse me, but would you mind if we sat here with you? There aren’t any tables left with enough seats for the three of us,” says the tall one. His voice is delicate, a soft lilac against teal, and it’s rejuvenating to hear after days of deafening doorbells and panicked whispering.

It takes a few moments for Changbin to process the request, and it takes several more before he realizes he’s supposed to reply. “Oh, yeah. Of course you can,” he says quickly. The three boys offer him grateful smiles and scurry off to fetch two more chairs, leaving him to sit there with fiery ears as he struggles not to bury his face in his palms.

Mere seconds later, the four of them are seated comfortably around the wooden table, and Changbin wonders if the uneasiness of the atmosphere is all in his head. It seems to be the case. Across from him, the tall one is all smiles and loose posture, arms crossed casually on the surface before him. The medium one is to his left, charmingly square features reminding him almost uncannily of a large, friendly dog. To his left sits the short one, eyes disappearing from the radiance of his smile, braces making his teeth all the more blinding. They seem like decent people. At least Changbin doesn’t look so alone now.

“I’m Hyunjin,” says the tall one eventually, before nodding his head towards the medium and short ones respectively, “and they’re Seungmin and Jeongin. What’s your name?”

“Changbin,” he replies flatly, feeling at his most eloquent. He thinks he should say something else to keep the conversation flowing smoothly, but he’s hardly had a chance to finish his sandwich yet and his stomach is demanding a fair portion of his attention. Blood rushes into his face as it rumbles rather audibly.

Seungmin snorts into his drink. Changbin can tell he’s trying to mask his laughter. “You must be hungry. Go ahead, eat. Don’t let us distract you.” And Changbin can’t argue with that. Not daring to waste a second, he digs into his lunch. He can feel the boys’ eyes on him but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment.

The meal does wonders for unclogging his mind, despite how meagre it is in size. The boys around the table have all devoured what they brought with them and Changbin doesn’t know if they intend to leave or stay a while longer. He hasn’t exactly spoken to them much over the past ten minutes, but their presence is oddly placating to him, and he wonders at what point in time he became so at ease around perfect strangers.

Jeongin taps his fingers on the edge of his mug. He chews gingerly on his bottom lip, a hesitant stiffness to his posture. “You look a little down. You kind of have since we saw you earlier. Unless that’s how you always look, in which case I’m sorry for bringing it up–”

“Shut up, Jeongin,” Seungmin cuts in, voice hushed, “you don’t say stuff like that when you don’t know someone!” His gaze drops to his plate, then lifts to Changbin’s face. The smile he offers is nervous and tight. Changbin wants to return a reassuring gesture, but the best his sleep deprived brain can accomplish is a weary grimace. Jeongin’s face falls. Not wanting to upset him, Changbin awkwardly reaches out, withdrawing his hand before it can brush Jeongin’s.

“It’s fine. I’d rather tell shit like that to strangers anyway, because there’s no way they can use it against me,” he says. He mentally berates himself for it afterwards, because if there’s one thing he wants to avoid it’s seeming like a paranoid idiot. It does, at least, seem to have the intended effect. Jeongin’s face brightens and he nods, the smile on his lips returning.

“Then tell us,” Hyunjin says suddenly. His chin is propped in the palm of his hand, and he’s leaning forward curiously. There’s an interested glint in his eyes that Changbin both wants to stare at and hide from, and it’s almost magnetic in the way it draws him in. It’s a matter of seconds before he finds himself spilling.

“I guess I’m not in the best mood, no,” Changbin admits. It’s a strange thing to say to people he knows next to nothing about. Despite that, it floods him with a sense of calm, of tranquility, and he almost believes he won’t regret this later. “I feel like I’ve missed out on a good opportunity. A fucking _great_ opportunity, actually, and it’s all because I got anxious.”

“Then you know what we should do?” Hyunjin asks, an eager smile playing on his lips. Changbin doesn’t know, isn’t sure if he really wants to, but something about the innocent enthusiasm glittering in his gaze compels him to reply. It’s not like he can say no.

“What should we do?” Changbin can’t fight the grin that emerges on his face when all three of the boys perk up in their seats. They’re charming, he’ll admit. It’s been less than an hour since he encountered them and he already feels at home, as if he’s surpassed being a mere acquaintance to them.

Hyunjin makes suspicious eye contact with Seungmin, who says, “You should come and hang out with us. We’re going to get some snacks after this, and an extra pair of arms certainly wouldn’t hurt.” It’s a lighthearted offer, and seemingly not one that will result in him lying lifelessly in the soggy depths of a stranger’s ditch, so he agrees once again. He doesn’t have anything better to do, besides maybe mope around for the rest of the day. He trusts them not to get him in trouble.

When Jeongin and Hyunjin are done energetically celebrating and Seungmin’s finished rolling his eyes, they push back their chairs and stand up. Changbin begrudgingly notes that Jeongin, the boy he’d earlier dubbed as _the short one,_ is still somehow taller than him. He exits the café before the others, finding peace in the delicate tinkling of the bell above the door as he pushes his way through.

“What do you guys need snacks for? You literally just ate lunch,” Changbin says once everyone’s outside. He quickly tugs the ends of his sleeves down over his fingertips. It’s much colder than it was when he arrived, and he finds himself regretting not dressing appropriately once again. He feels stupid for not learning his lesson from the last couple of times he nearly froze to death.

Hyunjin hums airily, casting Changbin a surreptitious glance out of the corner of his eye. “For later, duh. They’re coming over to my place to spend the night and I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t feed them shitty food,” he explains, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Changbin supposes he can see where he’s coming from, at least in an adolescent sort of way.

They turn into an unremarkable convenience store wedged between a kids’ clothing shop and a cheap Chinese restaurant. The lights inside are dull and grey and they make Changbin’s eyelids ache persistently, but at least the air is warm, if not somewhat stagnant. With each inhale he feels as though he’s breathing in a pound of stale dust. The little old lady behind the desk is the only cheerful thing about the shop, even compared to the neon-packaged treats lining the shelves.

Jeongin veers away from the group when they reach the end of the isle. Without finesse, he gathers several bags of chips and sweet-and-salty popcorn under his arms, stepping up to the counter and placing them in front of the old lady. She smiles warmly and he pulls out his wallet, and all the while Hyunjin and Seungmin are bickering behind Changbin about which brand of soda to buy.

Seungmin suddenly whirls around to grab his arms. “Changbin, should we get Pepsi or Coke?” he asks, and Changbin finds himself flinching under the momentous weight of his stare. He doesn’t think it matters which they choose, because soda is soda and it’ll rot their teeth regardless.

“Get Coke,” he says. It’s more to get Seungmin off his back than because he actually cares, but maybe the relieved thumbs up Hyunjin shoots him over Seungmin’s shoulder is enough to make him feel proud of his decision.

Five minutes pass and their snacks are tucked safely away in a miniature plastic bag. Seungmin’s complaining again, something about the soda getting warm if they don’t hurry and put it in the fridge, and it takes Changbin more effort than he’ll admit to not remind him that it’s winter. He follows them to Hyunjin’s home upon Jeongin’s meek request and aids them in unloading their snacks, and is halfway out the door when Hyunjin grabs the back of his jacket.

“Hey, you’re not getting away that easily. Give me your number,” he says rather sternly, expectantly blinking down at him. Changbin concedes without putting up a fight. He’s allowed to leave when he’s finished and he steps out once again into the frigid outdoors, although it feels different this time, a little less execrable. Maybe it’s because he’s made new friends. He can’t tell for certain, especially not when his chest still feels strangely hollow. Regardless, he accepts the positive change and heads home.

Except he doesn’t go home. Instead, Changbin finds himself perched on the edge of a snow-covered park bench. His mind is racing now that he’s alone. For once, his thoughts aren’t quite as dark as they usually are, and he feels almost confident. He feels _good._ He feels brave, and despite how dangerous he’s come to find courage, it permeates him with a compelling flame, an undeniable dumb streak. He might have to do something about it before he does something he’ll regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's almost over now and i don't know how to feel about it lmao
> 
> here's a less dramatic chapter for you before the end!


	7. Chapter 7

Changbin doesn’t know how long he’s been standing still for. The tips of his ears are numb and his fingers feel raw, and there’s a fine dusting of snow on his jacket. His throat is dry. He thinks that if he moves, maybe his skin will split and shatter like a fragile ice sculpture, but he doesn’t feel it would be too awful if it were to happen. Then at least he wouldn’t have to go indoors.

He’s outside Felix’s house. It’s a stupid place to be, one that surely can’t have anything favourable to offer, but Changbin finds his feet plastered to the porch regardless. He can’t move. Despite how severely his mind detests where he is, his body doesn’t agree enough to leave. He glances over his shoulder at the driveway. At least it’s empty.

Arm stiffly lifting from his side, Changbin knocks on the door. His throat tightens. His heart hammers against his ribcage. Part of him wants Felix to open the door, to look Changbin in the eyes and ask if he needs anything, and maybe Changbin will be able to honestly tell him this time around. The other part of him, however, doesn’t want that. It wants Felix to either be out with his parents or up in his room, earphones plugged in, oblivious to the events of the frigid world outside his bed. Changbin thinks more of him is praying for the latter despite the way it makes his chest ache.

A minute passes. Changbin feels that he should be gone by now, since it’s obvious that no one’s going to open the door. He remains where he is regardless, snowflakes melting on his frostbitten cheeks and gathering in his eyelashes until he can’t see clearly. Felix isn’t home, that much is evident. Changbin turns and walks back down the driveway, staring at the heavy prints his boots leave in the freshly fallen snow.

 

 

It doesn’t take much for Changbin to realize why he enjoyed spending time with Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin the day before. Until they sat with him, they were little more than mere strangers in his world, people he’d never seen before in his life. They didn’t know him. As far as he knows, they’ve never been acquainted with Felix. They offered him respite from the interminable chaos the last several weeks have brought, so it’s not difficult to understand why he felt as at ease in their presence as he did. To Changbin, they’re a refreshing contrast to the pity and discomfort he senses in his friends when he’s around. Their memory brings forth thoughts of others, people like Woojin. He doesn’t know Felix either. Maybe he’ll be able to placate Changbin’s perturbed mind, be able to offer useful advice from a fresh perspective.

This chain of thought is what guides Changbin to Chan’s door. It’s a floor below his own and he isn’t sure if Chan’s a person he wants to talk to in his current state, but he’s the only one he knows that can direct him to Woojin. As he knocks on Chan’s door, he finds himself thinking it would’ve been much easier to just go to Hyunjin instead. At some point during his rueful musings, the door opens.

“Changbin? Hey, it’s been a while. Do you need anything?” Chan’s fully dressed this time. Changbin breathes a sigh of relief.

“Not from you, no,” he says, wincing at the bluntness of the statement. He catches Chan’s brow furrowing but doesn’t apologize, veins thrumming with anxious energy. He can’t wait to be gone. He’s restless, incessantly agitated, and it’s only worsened by the realization that he doesn’t know _why._ His fingertips twitch. His bones are buzzing, and he can hear the whiny droning of them just outside his conscious mind. Chan looks as if he’s about to speak again so Changbin cuts him off with a straightforward, “I need Woojin’s address.”

Chan’s eyes narrow suspiciously, pupils flitting from one side to the other. Changbin can tell he’s curious. By a relieving stroke of luck, he doesn’t press for answers. “He lives on the seventh floor of the apartments several blocks over. He’s in the room at the end of the hall by the lift.” Scanning Changbin’s face, he frowns. “Should I tell him you’re coming?”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks. Really, thank you,” Changbin says, already turning to hurry down the hall. He feels bad, guilt plucking at his heartstrings, so he makes a mental note to make it up to Chan later.

 

 

Changbin hasn’t visited Woojin before. His room is neat, rows upon rows of thick books lined on a set of shelves. The air smells clean, hints of detergent and citrus wafting through the cozy space. It’s comfortable. Woojin’s sitting on his couch and blinking up at Changbin, patience evident in his expression, in the way he’s placed his hands. He always seems so unbelievably sage and it blows Changbin’s mind.

“You’re good looking. You’ve asked people out before, right?” Changbin asks once he’s gathered his thoughts. It seems a little straightforward, but straightforward seems to be the best way for him to communicate when his brain feels blitzed. Exhaustion and emotion don’t mix well.

Woojin presses his lips together. “Yes, I have.” The concern in his gaze tells Changbin he’s beginning to figure out why he’s here. It’s unnerving, but it’s not as if it’s an unexpected turn of events. Changbin’s not exactly being subtle. He doesn’t know what he should say next so he stares at the ground, focus zeroing in on a scuffed floorboard, hands retreating into his pockets. His mouth is sore from where he’s been biting his lip. He thinks he can taste blood.

“How did you do it?” Changbin eventually asks. “Like, how do you even tell someone how you feel? Whenever I try to plan shit out in my head it comes out sounding weird and forced.” If he thinks back on his past attempts, he’s struck by the urge to curl up in a ball on the ground. He knows honesty is the best policy. He knows all he has to do is _do it._ It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that despite a fancy combination of phrases, no matter the sheer amount of effort he puts into his confession, if Felix doesn’t like him back then he doesn’t like him back. It’s a simple concept. Regardless, it doesn’t help to calm his nerves.

“I suppose I took some time to organize my feelings in my head. I figured out how I really felt about the person, then I told them,” Woojin says. He chuckles softly, followed by an airy sigh. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. Sometimes things in life really are that simple.” And maybe they are. Perhaps Changbin’s been making all the wrong choices. It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest, because he has a knack for turning relatively manageable situations into complete nightmares.

“Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Woojin. That helped a lot,” Changbin says as he tugs on his jacket, left arm getting caught in the sleeve. He hastily forces it the rest of the way through and offers Woojin a small smile. “I should get going. I guess I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Of course. Good luck!” Woojin calls after him as he heads out the door. Changbin wonders why Woojin’s wishing him luck when he shouldn’t know what he’s up to, but it’s another one of those awkward situations where he realizes that there’s a chance he’s not as discreet as he likes to believe. It doesn’t matter. He’s used to it by this point.

 

 

A cup of steaming coffee and fifteen frozen minutes later, Changbin finds himself standing outside Hyunjin’s house. He’s been here once before, within the past twenty-four hours actually, but he figures it doesn’t exactly count since the visit lasted all of two minutes. His lips feel dry and it hurts to breathe so he knocks on the front door. Almost as soon as he’s lifted his fist for the second knock, the door opens. It’s sudden, and the spontaneity of it nearly gives Changbin a heart attack.

“Hi, Changbin. Come in,” Hyunjin says warmly, stepping away from the entrance. His smile is languid and his eyelids are drooping, and Changbin thinks he catches him stifling a yawn as he steps inside.

“Did you know I was coming or something?” Changbin asks. It certainly seems that way, what with how quickly he answered the door. Hyunjin merely chuckles, and it’s a slow sound, one thick with exhaustion. He shakes his head.

“Nope. You were standing outside for so long that I saw you through the window,” he replies. Shutting the door when Changbin’s fully inside, he takes his snowflake-flecked jacket and hangs it up by the heater. Changbin can hear clattering coming from upstairs. The light banging is accompanied by idle chatter, and it doesn’t take long for Changbin to remember that Hyunjin has guests.

“Shit, Seungmin and Jeongin stayed the night. Am I interrupting anything?” If he is, he feels guilty. The last thing he wants is for Hyunjin to feel disrupted. His fears are assuaged, however, when Hyunjin scrunches his nose and shakes his head.

“You’re not, no worries. We didn’t get out of bed until ten minutes ago, you know,” he says, grinning from ear to ear, and Changbin now fully understands why he looks so drained. He follows Hyunjin up the stairs and into the kitchen, where Seungmin and Jeongin are sitting with their faces dangerously close to their bowls of cereal. “Now why do you look so panicked? Is that thing from yesterday still bothering you?”

“Thing?” _Thing._ Changbin gets what he means. He nods tentatively, biting the inside of his cheek as he glances around the room. “It’s been on my mind for way too long. I just want it over with,” he says. He’s decided by this point that his life would be going much more smoothly if he could just get up the courage to deal with his problems when they arise.

“Is it a _love_ thing?” Seungmin asks from inside his bowl, and there’s a thin note of disgust in his voice that Changbin almost finds humorous. Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. He looks curious now, and almost awake.

“Kind of. It’s more of a miscommunication thing.” Changbin sits down at the table. Jeongin looks more exhausted than the other two, and he wonders how late he stayed up.

Hyunjin settles down beside Changbin, resting a warm palm on his knee. “Then before you go out and deal with all of that, you should stay here and eat something. It’s way past breakfast and I’m sure you’ve already eaten, but I could get you lunch,” he offers. It’s a proposal Changbin would normally decline, but being as beaten down by the grey and the cold as he is, he accepts.

He doesn’t end up leaving until hours later, when the sky is inky and stars are beginning to show. There’s so many people he could visit, but really only one place he has to go. Reluctance swallows his chest and penetrates his bones, tugging on the back of his jacket until he almost turns around and goes home. He forces it to the back of his mind and perseveres.

 

 

Changbin wonders why he always ends up outside Felix’s house at half past ten. It’s dark and cold and he wants nothing more than to head home, maybe even talk to Minho, but he knows he shouldn’t. Besides, Jisung would be proud of him if he knew what he was about to do. That’s the thought that keeps him from leaving as he rings the doorbell, bottom lip bloody from the scrutiny of his teeth.

Predictably, it’s Felix that answers. It’s always him, even though Changbin knows he has two sisters and his parents are together. Shock plays across Felix’s features when his eyes land on Changbin, but he’s quick to hedge it.

“Can I help you?” He sounds tired, and Changbin is reminded painfully of the last time he visited Felix. When he lifts his eyes from the blanket of snow covering the porch, he notices that Felix is wearing pyjamas, and it dawns on him that he might be interrupting his sleep. He swallows the lump of guilt in his throat.

“We need to talk. It’ll be quick, I promise,” Changbin says, although he doesn’t know if it’s true. He hopes it isn’t. Felix looks exasperated but he concedes, letting Changbin in and carefully shutting the door.

They end up in Felix’s room. Changbin wonders if it’s because Felix wants to lie down, but when he seats himself on the carpet, Changbin isn’t so sure. He sits down across from him and rests his hands in his lap, forcing himself to maintain eye contact despite the discomfort that pebbles his skin. Felix is watching him expectantly, like he expects him to have everything planned out already. Changbin supposes he should. That doesn’t change the fact that he has no clue what he’s doing, regardless of the fact that he’s been thinking about this moment all day.

“Listen, I know we’re not exactly getting along right now,” he begins slowly, “and I know why. I acted like I didn’t trust you. I let my feelings get in the way of our friendship.” He’s known Felix for nearly two years, and they’ve never once fought to the degree they have been for the past several days. He feels silly for it, because the entire thing has been avoidable from the very start. “You were right. I should’ve just told you how I felt, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Felix’s face remains expressionless but Changbin feels relieved, like the mud that’s been sitting in his lungs for weeks has finally been cleared up. He breathes in. He breathes out. It’s warm in Felix’s bedroom but the tip of his nose is cold, fingers retreating into the sleeves of his sweater. It’s too quiet.

“You’re not always right, you know,” Changbin adds when the silence grows to be too much. “But I guess you were this time. I was a dick.” It’s a tricky thing to admit. He isn’t sure how he feels about it once it’s out in the open.

“No, I wasn’t right. Trying to cut you out of my life because I was upset was a childish thing to do.” Felix traps his bottom lip between his teeth. He breathes in shakily through his nose. Changbin can see the fear glittering in his umber eyes, and he feels it in himself too, an unseen wound that thrums in time with his heartbeat. Seeing Felix in such an uncertain state suffuses him with an ache that throbs just beneath the realm of his consciousness, and it’s like his lungs are bruised. He drags his tongue over his lips. His throat is dry.

“Can I kiss you?” Changbin asks. He can hear the tremor in his voice, can hear the way it lilts in all the wrong places, but he blocks it out for once, instead nervously watching Felix. The question seems almost inapposite over the stifling silence. The tips of his ears are burning. Whether Felix wanted to kiss him or not all those weeks ago is irrelevant, because after the trouble Changbin’s put him through, he won’t blame him if he’s changed his mind.

Face flushing, Felix meets Changbin’s worried gaze. His stare is level, focused, and it sends chills thrumming up Changbin’s spine. “Do you want to kiss me?” He seems so certain of himself, and Changbin would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous. The only hint he has of Felix’s anxiousness is the delicate rose tinging his golden skin. He feels guilty about it, but the sight pacifies his worry, at least a little.

There’s a heavy pause. Changbin can feel the weight of Felix’s attention, the pressure of his response. Despite the fear clenching in his chest, he knows his answer. He has for well over a month. “I do.”

Felix’s lips are brushing his almost as soon as the confession slides from his tongue. He’s kissing him and it feels _real,_ overwhelmingly so. The sensations of Felix’s hands on his body aren’t dulled by cheap liquor. Changbin can feel the roughness of his lips, the pleasant warmth of his breath, the drag of his blunt fingernails against his nape. There’s no cloying taste of saccharine cupcakes, only brine and breeze and a subtle whisper of peach. Changbin slips his arms around Felix’s narrow waist and tugs him in closer, suppressing an amused snort at the way he nearly tumbles into his lap.

“Careful,” Felix says, voice barely above a murmur. There’s some humour to it, but it’s obscured behind a curtain of nervousness and tentative vulnerability. He looks uncharacteristically tense so Changbin kisses him again. Felix stiffens for a moment before relaxing, pressing his chest closer to Changbin’s, smiling against his lips as he allows his fingertips to stray along the outside of his thigh. Changbin can feel his blood warming beneath Felix’s hands so he gingerly cups his jaw and leans away, offering him a reassuring smile when their eyes meet. An uncertain silence hangs in the air between them. Changbin feels like he should break it but he can’t quite seem to grasp at the words he wants to use.

“I liked that,” Felix says eventually, and it’s like a persistent burden has been lifted from Changbin’s shoulders.

“I liked it too,” Changbin replies. He knows he sounds awkward. He feels awkward, primarily because his brain is finally catching up with his body and he’s finding it difficult to meet Felix’s gaze. His lips are tingling from the eager contact and his face feels uncomfortably hot, like electricity is sparking just beneath the surface of his flushed skin.

Felix tips his head to the side, eyebrow cocked, tongue running over the inside of his cheek. The nonchalant way he’s glancing Changbin up and down makes Changbin feel as though he’s being scanned, an item on a conveyor belt. “D’you like me? That wasn’t out of pity, right?” Felix suddenly asks. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut and it forces the breath from Changbin’s lungs. The corners of his lips quirking up in a tired sort of smirk, Felix chuckles. It sounds dry, but not unpleasant. “I think you do. But for how long? Like, I guess I just…” He trails off and runs a hand through his messy hair. Changbin kind of wants to die.

Despite his innate urge to talk his way around his feelings, Changbin finally feels that he can stop with the half-truths. “Yeah. Yes, I do. For, uh, a few months?” It feels liberating to get it off his chest, but at the same time it weighs him down, pressing him further into Felix’s gaudy Pikachu-themed carpet. Across from him, he sees Felix’s throat bob as he swallows. He sees his eyes brighten. It’s subtle, but Changbin swears he sees the edges of his mouth twitch too.

“Good. I knew it,” Felix says, an excited grin now blossoming fully on his lips. It falters. “At least, I kind of did. I hoped it more than anything. Wishful thinking, I guess.” He lets out a sigh, a slow sound that pushes on until the breath in his lungs dissipates. Gaze lifting, he presses his lips together, bringing his knees up to his chest. Changbin thinks he looks captivating in a lethargic sort of way, even with his tired eyes and pyjamas.

“How long have you… Y’know.” Changbin doesn’t know how to phrase the question, primarily because he isn’t sure if there’s any point in asking. Felix has already admitted to wanting to kiss him. He’s even said he _enjoyed_ it. But at no point in either of those confessions has he actually told Changbin that he wants to be with him. It’s simply an idea Changbin’s hopelessly grasped at until now.

Felix’s head drops to the side, resting on the edge of his bed. “Liked you? I don’t know. I think it was last year, before you graduated.” His honesty is staggering. Then again, it’s not like he isn’t used to Felix being a step ahead of him by now. He’s never been as emotionally constipated as Changbin is. It took him months to realize how he felt for Felix, but it seems that Felix has had it all figured out since the beginning.

Changbin can’t decide where he wants to take the conversation. He’s at a loss for words, not for the first time as of late, and every sentence that comes to mind tangles with the next and forms a string of unintelligible nonsense. The silence before was manageable, but it’s quickly becoming suffocating. He can feel his body giving in beneath its weight.

“Are you okay?” Felix asks, low voice pushing the stifling quiet aside. When Changbin looks up, he sees that Felix is frowning, and it makes his stomach churn. A person as cheerful as he is shouldn’t have to look so concerned.

It takes a few seconds for Changbin’s body to catch up with his brain, but he eventually manages to nod. “Yeah, sorry. I just…” He stares down at his palms where they’re spread over his lap, flexing his fingers to make sure they still work. “I just like you a lot. But as much as I love being around you, I’m not sure if I really want this to become something? I don’t know.” He hates how unsure he sounds. He hates how Felix’s face falls blank, unreadable.

“Oh.” There’s confusion and sadness at war behind his eyes and Changbin wishes he couldn’t see it. “Well, uh, that’s understandable. Commitment can be a tricky thing,” he says, leaning forwards to rest his chin on his knees. He’s not looking at Changbin anymore. Changbin wishes he was better with words.

“No, wait–” He pauses, takes a moment to process what it is he wants to say. It comes easier this time. “If we like each other then only makes sense to try, right?” He thought it would come out sounding at least sensible, but he ends up feeling desperate.

Regardless, Felix chuckles, a small smile beginning to form. Changbin feels it light up the room despite its meagre size. “We should, shouldn’t we?”

He responds with a jerky nod. His body feels stiff and robotic but his heart is thundering in his chest, and he’s beginning to fear that it might give up. Felix stands up and flops down onto his bed, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his face into the pillow. Changbin doesn’t know what to do. He ends up awkwardly staying put, plucking persistently at the threads of the carpet beneath him.

Felix turns his head so that his cheek is against the pillow. He watches Changbin for a moment before shifting onto his side, patting the space beside him. “Get up here. You look too dark to be sitting on Pikachu, it’s weird.” Changbin is quick to comply. He gets up faster than he should after sitting on his knees for so long, and the blood that rushes into his legs is uncomfortable and makes his flesh prickle. Losing his balance, he topples down, landing next to Felix with a soft grunt.

“Shit, sorry,” he says quickly, prying his numb leg off of Felix’s torso. Perhaps it’s taking a while for the feeling to return to his limbs because all of his blood is in his face.

“I don’t remember you being so clumsy last time we spoke. Then again, maybe you were just eager to get here.” Felix is laughing and Changbin’s fairly certain it’s at him, but he doesn’t mind too much. He looks ethereal with moonlight streaking his cheeks. From where he lies, Changbin can make out the peppering of freckles over Felix’s honeyed skin, the heaviness beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Without realizing it he’s wrapping his arms around Felix’s middle and pulling him closer.

“Can I stay here?” Changbin asks quietly. He fears that if he speaks too loudly, he’ll wake up and realize this is all a dream, something temporary and intangible. The warmth of Felix against his chest is difficult to process.

Arms drape across his waist and legs tangle with his own. “’Course you can. I wouldn’t send you home this late at night, Changbin. I’m not that mean.” Felix presses a ginger kiss to his forehead. The pale light leaking through the slats of the blinds make his eyes appear incandescent, almost like they’re glowing. “Now shut up, I’m trying to go to sleep.” Maybe Changbin laughs at that.

It’s confusing, but everything is confusing with Felix. It always has been. Changbin’s learned to accept it over time. There could be a day somewhere in the future, at some distant point in time, that Changbin wakes up and knows how things are, knows what’s going on with him. It sounds plausible. But for now, he decides to let his mind relax. He has Felix in his arms. And as far as he’s concerned, it’s enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, can you believe i actually finished a chaptered fic for once
> 
> this was a fun ride, i'm going to feel so weird not writing it anymore :') although it annoyed the hell out of me sometimes tbh, you have no idea how many scenes of this i had to scrap and rewrite last minute
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who has been reading this, and thank you to those who see it in the future! it makes me happy to see that people enjoy what i write <3


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